


The Bloody Rose

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, First Time, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8692345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean Sorrenson & Samuel LeGrand... two boys who meet & fall in love. But when a demon awakens his Chosen Children and puts in motion a long foretold prophecy, how will the boys cope? And will they have the strength to stay true to one another and their love while trying to save the world?





	1. One: Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

_New York City, 1913_

 

The sky was colored a dismal and depressing gray, the clouds overhead seeming to reflect the sorrow and bleakness that filled Dean’s heart. He was standing in the cemetery behind St. Mary’s Church, looking down at the gravestone of his Aunt Georgia, who had passed away just a few days ago.

 

He turned and looked to his cousin, Ethan, and saw in his face the same sad and sorrowful look that surely was upon his own. He gently reached out and took Ethan's hand in his own, clasping it softly.

 

Dean felt Ethan squeeze his hand, his long pianist fingers sliding between his rough and calloused ones to hold tightly. No words were needed for him to know how Ethan felt; he may have been twenty-and-five, but Dean knew that he missed his mother, for his aunt had been his only family, besides Ethan.

 

And now here they were staring down at their aunt's grave. Neither knew what had caused her death, but one thing that did burn brightly in Dean’s mind was the letter that his aunt had left him. One that he had read almost immediately after he had learned the news of his aunt’s death.

 

Dean could see his aunt’s graceful script floating through his mind as he stared at the grave marker before him:

 

_Dean,_

_If this letter finds you than I have failed in my attempt to keep you and my son safe from harm. This letter means that I lay dead, buried beneath the ground. And if this letter does find you, then there is someone I want you search for and find. His name is Samuel. He will be in the care of a woman named Madame Bellemère. Find her, find Samuel, and all will be clear and you shall know your part in what is to come._

_With all my Love,_

_Georgia_

 

And so Dean knew he had to find this Madame Bellemère and this Samuel. Something inside told him that he had to, otherwise something would happen that would that would alter the course of what was to come. And for the worse.

~ ~ ~

Dean awoke a few days later with something akin to a headache, but it was far worse. His body felt sluggish and his heart hurt something awful. He sighed, stretched, and then got out of bed quickly, trying to ignore the sensations that were going on inside of him.

 

He quickly went to his wash-basin and splashed water on his face. He then dressed into his attire for the week, a slim black suit with a white collared shirt underneath. He then went to his hanging mirror and styled his blonde-brown hair so that it laid smooth against his scalp, combed over to the right side. He noticed that his dark emerald green eyes shone back at him from within his worn and pale face. Freckles smattered across his nose and cheeks gave him the appearance of happiness when in reality he was far from it. After that, he saddled into some shoes.

 

He then grabbed the one thing he had allowed himself to wear during the time of mourning following his aunt’s death, his mother’s locket. It was simple really, just a chain of silver with the oval-shaped locket made of silver. On the locket’s front was a simple red rose. Inside the locket was a picture of his mother and his father. Both of whom had died when he was just three-and-a-year. And now, at just twenty-and-one he was once again orphaned, along with his cousin Ethan. They were the only family they had left to each other.

 

Dean walked out of his room, which really wasn’t his anymore, for they had no claim to their New York home anymore, for they had been willed a plantation home outside of New Orleans, Louisiana. Dean quietly wondered to himself about that. How was it that they had no claim to what they’d lived in for most of their lives, but had a home in Louisiana that neither of them knew about until the reading of their aunt’s will? Dean shook his head and walked out of his room and downstairs, where the maid, Miranda, and Ethan were waiting for him.

 

Dean saw that they were not eating in the dining room, for there was nothing there, save for the chairs and table, but that they were eating in the kitchen. When he walked into the kitchen, his body became even more sluggish feeling and his heart hurt even more. If it was not for the fact that he did not cry in public like most gentlemen, he may have burst into tears, but he held them back and sat next to Ethan. Miranda set a spoon, knife, and glass of orange juice before him and then set a small plate of toast and a hard-boiled egg before him. Dean picked up his spoon and tapped the top of the egg to crack the shell and then began to eat. After a few seconds, Ethan spoke, his soft baritone voice echoing loudly in the stillness of the kitchen.

 

“How did you sleep, Dean?”

 

Dean turned to look at his cousin. Ethan's once happy dark green eyes seemed dull and depraved of all emotion, his long and wavy dark brown hair looked rather unkempt, and his shoulders slumped downward. And that was when the feeling of sadness and depression intensified even more and Dean got the strangest impression that it was coming from his cousin.

 

“I slept well, as well as one would expect. And you?”

 

“Same as you, probably more.”

 

“It’ll be ok. This shall pass and...”

 

“Mr. Sorrenson?”

 

“Yes, Miranda?”

 

“There is a gentleman here to see you. He says it’s important.”

 

Who could be calling at this early of an hour? Dean thought to himself as he got up to see who was awaiting him in the parlor, which was where they always took their guests and company. He felt, rather than saw, Ethan get up and follow him.

 

When he entered the parlor, he was slightly shocked to see who was awaiting him.

 

“Mr. Devonshire? What are you doing here this early in the day?”

 

The older gentleman, who was tall, balding slightly, and yet seemed to always be in a cheerful mood no matter what had happened in anyone’s life, was fidgeting and seemed rather nervous. Dean suddenly had the odd impression to run from the room and hide away in a dark corner. He quickly squashed that notion and kept his eyes on Mr. Devonshire.

 

“Well, Mr. Sorrenson, I have come to bring you news, though rather dreadful I must say.”

 

“Well, speak, man.” Ethan said as he stepped up beside Dean. He laid his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed.

 

Dean saw Mr. Devonshire swallow and then he said, his voice faltering slightly, “I-I have news from Mr. Caldwell, he said that since you both have no claim to the house here, you are to leave by the end of the week and be gone. He’s already found a family that’s ready to move in by the end of the week.”

 

Dean’s mouth fell open. Mr. Caldwell couldn’t do this to them! It just wasn’t fair. How were they suppose to move all of their belongings out of here before the end of the week?

 

Dean turned to Ethan, hoping he’d say something. But all he saw on his face was resignation. Apparently he was not willing to fight for what was their home. He turned back to Mr. Devonshire. “But, Mr. Devonshire, there is not a single way we can possibly move out within the week. There just isn’t!”

 

“Dean, please.”

 

Ethan’s voice spoke out and Dean fell silent.

 

“We shall be gone by the end of the week Mr. Devonshire, please be sure to tell Mr. Caldwell.”

 

“Yes, I shall, Mr. Sorrenson. I bid you both a good day. Goodbye.”

 

And then Dean and Ethan watched as Mr. Devonshire left. Once he was gone, Dean turned to his cousin. “Why did you just let him come in here and take our home away? Especially so soon after Aunt Georgia's passing! Ethan...”

 

“Dean, we can’t stop them. They own the building. Mother was just renting from them. I’m sure she had wanted us to move to the plantation home in Louisiana. Why else would she will it to us? We’ll be moved there by the end of the week. No questions.”

 

And Dean watched as Ethan walked away, his shoulders sagging and he suddenly knew, though how he could not explain, that these dark and sad emotions he was feeling were coming from him.

~ ~ ~

Later that day Dean was walking down the street, heading towards the home of his only friend in New York, Gregory Barlett. He knocked on the door and was greeted by the doorman, who ushered him inside and then went to fetch Gregory. Dean stood in the entrance hall for what seemed like hours when finally someone showed. Though it was not Gregory.

 

“You must be Dean. My dear cousin Gregory has told me so much about you. I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment.”

 

The girl who’d come to meet Dean was striking in her beauty. Her skin was the creamiest, palest white he’d ever seen and her waist-length hair was a honeyed-chestnut that shown with luster. Her eyes were the clearest, palest green Dean had ever seen on anyone. And she was slender, which her dark red gown only accentuated that fact.

 

“Well, would you please tell him that I stopped by? I would like to see him before I leave at the end of this week. My cousin and I are traveling to Louisiana to live from now on and I was hoping to see Gregory before I left.”

 

“I’ll be sure he knows, love.”

 

“Thank-you, Miss...”

 

“Bela.” The girl nodded her head, a smile playing on her full red lips.

 

“Thank-you, Bela.”

 

“Anytime, love. Anytime.”

 

And Dean left, heading towards his house, the most unsettling feeling of having been watched as a hunter watches its prey.


	2. Two: Dean

_New Orleans_

 

Dean stared at the huge plantation house in front of him. It was four days after he and his cousin, Ethan, had been told by Mr. Devonshire that they were to leave their New York City townhouse. Luckily they had been willed a plantation home by their late Aunt Georgia.

 

Dean had to admit, the structure was impressive. It was red brick with a dark grey roof that had two chimneys, one on each side, and had eight white stone pillars standing from one end of the house to the other. There were two huge staircases on the outside that connected with the front steps and then wound upwards towards the second story terrace. The windows and terrace doors of the second story gleamed in the midday sun and the oak wood front doors of the first story shone with such luster that Dean felt as if he should cover his eyes.

 

“Well, let us get our things from the car and then we can have a look around, shall we?” Ethan said, his voice soft and somber. They were still mourning the loss of their aunt and the move to New Orleans had not helped in the least bit.

 

Dean walked back to the car and helped Ethan remove some of their baggage. They had only brought their clothes and some personal items with them in the car. The rest was going to be arriving the day after and the moving men would bring all of that inside for them.

 

Dean grabbed his bags and then walked to the front door after Ethan. Just as they arrived at the door, it was flung open by a slender colored woman with curly black hair and dark eyes.

 

“Hello, I’m Marie, caretaker of the Terebelle Plantation. I assume you young men are Ethan Sorrenson and Dean Sorrenson?”

 

“Yes, ma’am, we are,” Ethan said.

 

“Then come on in my dears. I’ll fetch Marcus to handle your bags.”

 

Dean and Ethan procceeded inside the house and set their bags down near the front door. Marie closed the door softly behind them and then pulled on a rope that quickly summoned a young colored boy of about seventeen. “This is Marcus. Marcus, say hello to the new owners of Terebelle Plantation.”

 

“’Ello, sirs. I’ll be takin’ yer bags fer ya. No sense in yous havin’ to take’m yourselfs.”

 

Dean could only quietly stare at the boy as he swiftly gathered up their bags and began taking them up the curved staircase ahead of them.

 

“Now, would you young men like a quick tour of your new home?” Marie stared at them, awaiting a response.

 

“That would be nice Marie. Please.”

 

“Certainly. If you’ll follow me.” And then she turned and walked down the entrance hall just a bit before turning into another room.

 

Marie took them through the parlor, dinning room, library, study, billard room, conservatory, ballroom, and kitchen before ascending the stairs to show them the two second story wings.

 

“The East Wing is were your room shall be. The West Wing is where any guests you may have will stay. The servants quarters are out back, near the wheat fields.”

 

“Thank-you, Marie. If there is nothing else to show us then you are to be on your way.”

 

“As you see fit, Sir Ethan.” And Marie walked off rather briskly.

 

“Well, you certainly have a handle on everything already,” Dean quipped, staring at his cousin silently.

 

“Yes, well, not that I want to. I’m now the head of our household and as such most of the authority falls on me. Would you like to go for a walk Dean?”

 

“No, thank-you. I think I shall just go find me a room to stay in. Hopefully there are a few beds in this part of the house.”

 

“Okay. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs. In the billiard room.”

 

Dean watched is cousin go, feeling as if a heavy weight had fallen on his shoulders.

~ ~ ~

Dean stared out the window of his new bedroom, which over looked the long driveway of the plantation. Willow trees lined the whole expanse of the dirt road and he was rather impressed by the simple beauty of the trees themselves.

 

He sighed and then turned around to stare at his room. It was sparsely furnished with just a bed and small hanging chandelier. There was a sidetable near the bed and faded red curtains hung from the windows and doors leading to the terrace. The bed had only a single pillow and a few bed sheets, but that was all they had until the rest of their belongings arrived the next day. He had already put his clothes in the highboy that sat in the left corner of the room. Near it was a full-length mirror that he hadn’t had the heart to remove the dusty white sheet from.

 

Dean shrugged out of his jacket and vest and then flopped back on the bed, letting his mind wander.

 

Of course the first thing that entered his mind was that letter he had received shortly after his aunt’s death. Where was he going to find Madame Bellemère and this Samuel LeGrand? And why was it up to him? And what did his aunt mean by ‘you shall know your part in what is to come’? He mulled on these thoughts for what must have been hours, not coming up with any inkling of what to do, when a knock sounded at his door.

 

“Yes?”

 

The door opened and there stood Marie.

 

“Dinner is almost ready, Dean. Will you be eating with me and Marcus, or shall you take your dinner here? Sir Ethan is taking his dinner in his room for the night.”

 

“I shall take mine here, thank-you, Marie.”

 

“Not a problem.”

 

Just as Marie was turning to leave, Dean said, “Marie, do you know of a Madame Bellemère?”

 

Marie stopped and turned around slowly. When she looked back at Dean he was startled to see the look in Marie’s eyes. It was one of knowing and, oddly enough, understanding.

 

“Yessir, I do. She runs a room-and-board in town called La Vien Rose. You’ll find her there.”

 

“Can you tell me anything about her? Does she have a ward?”

 

Marie’s dark eyes peered into Dean’s and he got the oddest feeling she was looking deep in his soul.

 

“You’ll have to find out for yourself about the ward, sir. As to the lady herself. She’s a woman not to be trifled with, if you understand me.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“Now, I’ll go fetch your dinner.”

 

“Thank-you Marie.”

~ ~ ~

A few days after the moving men brought the rest of Dean and Ethan’s belongings they headed into town. After all, they wanted to get to know the town and try to make a fresh start.

 

While Ethan was busy looking into possible work for them, Dean walked down the street looking for a sign or somebody to ask about Madame Bellemère. After not coming up with anything after thirty minutes he walked into a drugstore and sat down at the counter on a bar-stool.

 

The clerk asked if he could get him anything and Dean declined, saying he had been looking around and just wanted to sit for a while. A few seconds later the bell at the door of the drugstore ran and Dean looked over to see who might have entered. While it began as just a quiet curiosity, Dean felt something inside of him ignite at the sight of the young man.

 

The boy had to have been about sixteen or seventeen but Dean swore he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The boy was a tall one, with a mop of dark brown hair that curled and waved over his head and he had the most startling hazel eyes Dean had ever laid eyes on. They seemed to be alive and Dean felt as if he could stare at those eyes all day long.

 

And then, much to Dean’s chargin, the boy looked his way, as if sensing someone watching him, and they locked eyes. The air grew hot and electrical, like just before a storm, andnd Dean swore in that moment, that he knew that boy. Though he couldn’t fathom how.


	3. Three: Angelique

_New Orleans, 1896_

 

There was a storm raging all through New Orleans. The sky was pitch black, but every few seconds a flash of lightning struck the ground, followed quickly by a boom of thunder. It was a wonder that Angelique even heard the knock on her door.

 

But when she heard the knock, she rushed over, her skirts rustling as she went, and flung the door open, the force of the storm sweeping inside and extinguishing the fire burning in the parlor and extinguishing all of the candles that illuminated her house. The only thing she saw was a dark, cloaked figure walking away and then she felt it, such strong emotion. Fear. She looked left and then right and then downward and was startled to see the baby swaddled in a dirty blanket laying on her doorstep. She quickly picked the babe up and held him close to her bosom.

 

Angelique turned her back on the storm and shut her door, holding tightly to the tiny body in her arms. She then quickly walked back into the parlor and started the fire again. Soon warmth filled her small cottage. After a while Angelique removed the blanket from around the babe and looked at him. He was chubby and looked sort of like a cherub. He had soft dark hair that wisped over his head and the most intense hazel eyes... as if he was looking deep into her soul; and not just some smudgy thing that most babies saw. Angelique felt herself smiling at the babe and wondered who had left him at her door. The bigger question was... why? But yet she felt connected to him somehow... Like he was meant to be hers.

~ ~ ~

The next day Angelique found a note had been slipped beneath her door. She bent quickly to open it. Once opened she wasn’t that surprised to see the only thing written was:

 

_**His name is Samuel.** _

_**You may choose whatever last name you see fit for the babe.** _

_**He is yours... for now...** _

 

Angelique found the note absurd but turned to face the babe, Samuel, who was giggling happily behind her on the floor on a blanket and surrounded by pillows. She felt her heart pull towards him and knew that he was her’s, for as long as he chose.

 

 

_1901_

 

Angelique was nearing her twenty-fifth birthday and was amazed at how well she had adjusted to being a mother. She loved her darling Sammy, who was now a young boy of four-and-one, but worried about him constantly. She had begun to sense something about the child, something only another psychic would sense. She knew that he had a strong gift locked away inside, but as to whether that gift had awakened yet, she wasn’t sure. So she went about as she always did, waiting on anyone who came to seek her guidance and gift. Angelique came from a long line of psychic-healers, possessing such gifts as empathy, divination, & healing. She also could make potions and cast spells and rituals when needed. Her gift of empathy was only minor, she only sensed the foremost emotions and only when they were strong. Her divination gift was rather strong, but still weaker than others, especially when compared to her late grandmother. As for her gift of healing, well... outsiders would say she was able to heal any and all afflictions, be they mind, body, or soul.

 

She was busy brewing a potion when it happened. She knew Sammy had gone outside to play and she was not worried about anything happening, so that was why it was such a shock when Sammy came running in, tears of blood streaking down his soft face.

 

“Momma!”

 

Angelique turned suddenly at the outcry, feelings of confusion and terror flowing into her.

 

“Mon cher, what is it?!”

 

Angelique knelt down and cradled Sammy in her arms, stroking his dark curls.

 

“Momma, the bad man... I saw... it was horrible... make them stop Momma. Make them stop!”

 

Angelique felt her heart squeeze at the plea from her baby. “What do you mean you saw?”

 

“The Bad Man! He hurt another girl! I saw him...”

 

“How... how did you see him?” Angelique was confused as to what her baby meant.

 

“I was playing and then my mind went blank... Then I saw... the Bad Man!”

 

“Oh, mon cher,” Angelique said, wiping gingerly at the bloody tears that marred her Sammy’s face. “It is okay. He cannot hurt you. I promise.”

 

“Momma... make them stop. I do not wanna see them anymore. I don’t wanna see...”

 

“Shhh... Momma is here. Just you rest. Let us get you to your room. Then Momma will bring you a nice warm bowl of soup.”

 

“But...”

 

“Samuel, hush my sweet. Momma will take care of you.”

 

Angelique gathered Sammy into her arms and carried him to his room. After she laid him down and covered him with his blankets she went to warm up some soup. Once it was nice and hot she carried it on a tray with a spoon to his room, but when she got there, Sammy was fast asleep. Angelique could only pray that Sammy could learn to embrace his gift.

~ ~ ~

A few days later, Angelique learned of the deaths of thirteen little girls. And how the killer was still at large.

 

 

_1913_

 

A scream pierced the night and Angelique quickly grabbed the candle by her bed and rushed to Sammy’s room where she opened the door to see the young man struggling against an unseen force. When she rushed towards him she felt herself being shoved back by the same unseen force. She immediately thought that spirits or some other supernatural force was in her home, but almost as suddenly as it began it was over, and Sam was sobbing; instinctively curling in on himself. Angelique walked over to him and unfolded him from his fetal position, taking him in her arms.

 

“Shhh. Sam... it’s okay. I am here now, mon cher. Do not cry. I am here.”

 

“Angelique, where is Angelique?!” Sam squirmed in her arms and Angelique had to use most of her strength to hold him to her.

 

“I am right here, Sammy. Wake up, please! Sammy!”

 

Sam’s eyes burst open and bloody tears, which had brimmed up as he’d slept, spilled down his cheeks, staining them crimson.

 

“Angelique?”

 

“Yes, mon cher. It is me. What is it? What is wrong?”

 

“I... I saw... fire and darkness, death and destruction... people screaming and running for their lives. Bodies were piled everywhere. I couldn’t stop it... I couldn’t stop it!”

 

And then Sam was crying, clinging to her with such ferocity. Angelique cradled Sammy to her, holding him tightly. For once she felt helpless and unsure.


	4. Four: Sam

Sam stared at his mother, who was busy brewing a potion for a client and humming an old gypsy tune to herself. Her long dark brown hair waved and curled in a cascade that flowed down her back. And her eyes, such dark and soulful eyes, glittered with happiness and mischief, like she knew a secret that nobody else knew. And maybe she did... After all his mother was descended from a long line of psychic-healers, her very own grandmother had been a psychic-healer. Not everyone in their ancestry had been a psychic-healer, but most had been gifted with one form or another of any psychic power... Sam had been gifted with the unfortunate gift of premonitions... seeing things that were to come and having no way of stopping them.

 

Sam’s visions, which for the most part happened during dreams, caused him to bleed tears... literally, blood poured from his eyes and stained his cheeks crimson. He’d been receiving visions of the future since he was four-and-one and now at the age of seventeen, he had begun to manifest another ability, one where he could manipulate and move objects with his mind. That one Angelique had told him about. During the last dream-vision he’d received she had come to his aid and was propelled backwards by an unseen force, but it subsided as soon as Sam had stopped screaming.

 

Sam shuddered and shook the thoughts from his head and walked up behind his mother. “ Good-morning, Momma. How did you sleep?” He said bending to kiss her cheek softly.

 

“Sammy! Oh, good-morning as well, mon cher. I slept well, thank-you, I’m just brewing a potion for my last client, Mrs. Clairborne, she’ll be here by nine o’clock and it’s now eight-thirty.”

 

“Do you need me to get anything from the drugstore? Any herbs or ingredients?”

 

“I do need you to run to the drugstore. I need some Adam and Eve, as well as some Basil and some Tarragon. Would be a dear and run to the drugstore for me?”

 

“Of course, Momma. I shall be right back with what you need.”

 

“Don’t forget a coat, mon cher! I think it may rain today.”

 

Sam grabbed his coat off of the hook that it hung on near the door and took it with him as he exited his house, which also was were his mother held her meetings with her clients. He walked briskly and with purpose towards the main street, and then when the drugstore appeared aheld of him he nearly ran. For some reason it felt as if he needed to be there... like someone was waiting for him. He stopped outside the drugstore, suddenly feeling very apprehensive, but he shook off that feeling and composed himself. He entered the drugstore and stood at the door, just scanning the people and faces that were in the drugstore.

 

And then he felt it, eyes watching him. He turned towards the young man who was staring at him, one with blondish-brown hair and dark emerald green eyes. His face was handsome and a little rugged, but that had to be due to the slight dusting of stubble that covered his face. Sam felt something inside of himself ignite, catching fire and burning with such need and want and desire... his heart beat fast and hard, and he felt as if someone had turned up the heater and feared that he was going to catch fire from this feeling inside of him that was all but caused just from this one man.

 

He took a breath and walked slowly over to the young-man, never taking his eyes from the man’s. He sat down on the stool next to him and when the clerk came over and asked him if needed anything Sam rattled off the herbs he’d come for and the clerk went to fetch them.

 

“Have we met before?”

 

The question was out of the young-man’s mouth faster than what apparently his brain wanted. Sam felt a shy smile cross his face, and he said, “No, I do not believe so, sir. Though something about you seems familiar.”

 

“Hmm... Well, my name is Dean Sorrenson. I’m new to town.”

 

“Samuel LeGrand. Nice to meet you Mr. Sorrenson.”

 

“Dean, please.”

 

“Alright,” Sam felt his smile get wider, “Dean.”

 

“Your name is Samuel?”

 

“Yes it is,” Sam was not sure why this young-man was asking him about his name. “Why?”

 

“It is probably nothing. Just something my aunt recently wrote me in a letter.”

 

“Oh, well I hope it is nothing too bad. So, you said you moved here recently?”

 

“Today as a matter of fact. My cousin, Ethan, and I moved here from New York City. It is very different here. I’m hoping to meet some people.”

 

“Here are the herbs you asked for Sam. Please let Angelique know that what she did for my wife was greatly appreciated.” The clerk handed Sam the bundles of herbs. “Thank-you Mr. Whitmore. Now how much do I owe you?”

 

“Take it. No charge. It is the least I can do in return for what you and your mother did for Sarah.”

 

“Well, thank-you Mr. Whitmore. My mother will appreciate it. And I’ll let her know you send your thanks.” Sam smiled at the clerk and after he left turned back to Dean who looked askance. “Oh, I bet you are wondering what all that was about.”

 

“Why don’t we go some place else to discuss this. I doubt your mother would like for the whole city to know what she does, am I correct?”

 

“Right you are, Dean. Let us go. I know of the best place.”

~ ~ ~

Sam entered his house, Dean following slowly behind, and said, “Momma! I’m back. And I brought a visitor.”

 

She came from the kitchen then and said, “Goodness! Hello, mon cher, I’m Madame Angelique Bellemère.” She nodded her head and then motioned for them to follow. Once they entered the kitchen Sam handed her the herbs and then sat down at the table, motioning for Dean to sit as well. Dean sat in the chair next to him, looking around their kitchen with a look like curiosity mixed with skepticism.

 

“My mother is a psychic-healer,” Sam said, waiting for Dean to answer back.

 

Dean took a moment to answer and Sam was beginning to get nervous, hoping he had not scared away his new-found friend. “I see. And what exactly is that?”

 

Sam felt a wry smile come across his face. “Well, my mother can heal any wound or affliction, she can divine with the spirit realm to see what may come, and she can feel the emotions of others - which when that happens she normally tries to find a way to help them if she can. She can also cast rituals and spells to help people and to ward off malevolent forces and she can make potions. All of her gifts she uses to help people. Sometimes without them knowing it.”

 

Sam watched as Dean’s eyes lost their skepticism and gained awe and almost a proud look. Sam smiled. Sam really did love his mother and was very proud of what she did.

 

“Do you have any gifts?”

 

Sam blinked and the smile slipped from his face. He was not sure if he wanted to tell Dean about his gift, he really did not want to scare him away. And there was something else that was telling him not to... though he couldn’t quite figure out what that was.

 

“Ah... no. At least I do not think I have any. Mother said that the psychic and/or healing gift tends to skip a generation.”

 

“I see.”

 

“What about you? I mean not that you may have psychic gifts or something, but what is it that you like to do?”

 

Sam watched as Dean’s face reflected inward, clearly the question was not one he had not readily thought about, which did not bother Sam, he just waited patiently for his friend to continue.

 

“Well, I like to read, but what man does not wish to glean the intellectual knowledge that one is required to have for business-making and deal settling? I like to ride horses, or at least I did when I was younger, it has been many years since I last rode atop a horse. I may fall onto my ass now,” and Dead laughed, heartily and jovially. “Let me think... what else do I like? I like wine and brandy. I like to listen to music, especially if one knows how to play the piano well, which my cousin Ethan is a master at.”

 

Dean’s face suddenly got this worried look on it and then he said, while getting up abruptly, “Ethan! I am terribly sorry, Samuel, but I must go. I completely forgot that I came into town with my cousin and that he expects me to meet him back at the car so we can make the journey home. I am terribly sorry to leave so suddenly but I must go.”

 

And then Dean was walking away, towards the door. Sam felt fear, but it was absurd to feel such a feeling after so soon of meeting Dean, and he pushed it down, deep inside of himself and walked to catch up to his friend. “It is okay. I will not keep you from meeting up with your cousin. But... I would like to see you again.” Sam bit his lip, hoping he wasn't being too forward. Thankfully he was rewarded with a smile from Dean and then the other said, “I would very much like that Samuel. I shall come by sometime this week so we may continue getting to know one another. It was a pleasure to meet you. Tell your mother thank-you for her hospitality.”

 

Sam stepped forward, intending to get the door for Dean, when he found himself standing very close to the older boy. Sam had not realized until just now that he was taller than Dean, if only by a few inches, but he found himself looking downward, into the older boy’s eyes. Sam felt his breath hitch and his heart pound... and he saw Dean flush red and his eyes smoldered something fierce. Sam felt the odd need to reach out and brush his fingers along Dean’s cheek, eventually working his way to his lips, which were soft and full. Sam licked his lips, and said, rather hoarsely, “I shall get the door for you...”

 

He continued to reach for the door with his hand, but his eyes had yet to leave Dean’s green ones. He could feel the warmth coming off of Dean’s body... and so wished he could just touch him. Tenderly touch him. And suddenly, as if his other hand had a mind of it’s own, Sam found his fingers brushing along Dean’s cheek, his fingers finally stopping at his lower lip to rub softly. He could feel the heat building between them, but almost as soon as he had touched Dean’s lip, Dean jumped back, his hands fumbling for the doorknob.

 

And then Sam was left standing there, the door wide open, watching Dean’s back retreat. Leaving him. Sam still felt the tingling from where his finger tips had pressed softly onto Dean’s lip, and Sam did a kiddish thing and brought his fingers to his lips and softly pressed his lips to where he had touched Dean’s lip. Sam brought his hand down and sighed, realizing what he had just done, and felt as if he too wanted to run out and never come back.


	5. Five: Vision ~ Part 1

**_He walked down a dark path, mist and shadows surrounding him. Everything was quiet and subdued, like the world had forgotten how to breathe..._ **

****

**_Trees closed in on all sides of him, darkness filtering in from between the branches. He was wondering where he was going, and then a dim orb of light filtered through the mist, beckoning him forward._ **

****

**_He walked faster, hoping to catch up to the glowing orb, hoping to figure out what or why it was. And even though he was walking faster, his breath becoming labored and ragged, he didn't seem to be getting any closer to the orb. And then out of the mist and shadows came a spark of bright light, like a flame, only brighter and all encompassing._ **

****

**_He suddenly found himself in another place. There was an open field with trees lining the perimeter and the moon glowing down casting everything in silvery-white light. And in the middle of the clearing was the orb and it was slowly taking shape..._ **

****

**_The shape of a man..._ **


	6. Six: Sam

Sam awoke from the dream-vision, panting hard, his heart thudding loudly, echoing off the walls of his small room.

 

This one had been different from the other ones he'd recently had. Those he had come to realize symbolized a dark rite of some kind. There had been a man with yellow-eyes and other young men and women calling for help or seething with dark power.

 

This vision, however, left him without a clue as to what it meant. He figured he would ask his mother when she awoke.

 

He wearily got up from under his covers and automatically went to his wash basin. He knew without a doubt that his cheeks were streaked with blood.

 

He scrubbed his face vigorously, not daring to look in the mirror just above the basin; he didn't want to see what he looked like.

 

He gingerly sat down on his bed, wrapping a sheet around himself and willing his body to stop shaking.

 

He couldn't get the image of that orb becoming a man from his head. He guessed that the man must be the one from his other dream-visions. Had to be.

 

He sighed, pulling the sheet tighter against his shoulders. He could feel the onset of a headache and knew that he should lay down and try to get some sleep.

 

He shivered once more and then laid back, snuggling his head into his pillow. He closed his eyes and prayed for a dreamless, vision-less, slumber.

 

_a few days later_

 

Sam stared at himself in his mirror. He was hoping to look his best for today. Unfortunately he was not able to fix his unruly hair, it curled and waved as it wanted. He sighed and turned away from the mirror. His eyes fell upon the letter that had arrived for him just yesterday. It was from Dean. Which Sam had been surprised to find out. But none the less Sam had opened the envelope with such ferocity that he almost tore the letter itself. And now his hazel eyes scanned the page which held Dean’s rough, yet endearing, scrawl.

 

_Sam,_

_I am going to be in town this Friday at about noon. I shall be waiting at the drugstore. I hope you will come see me._

_Your friend,_

_Dean_

 

Sam then turned and looked at his clock, it read a quarter til noon. He laid the letter down, his heart beating rapidly, excitedly. He could not wait to see Dean. And he knew that this time he would not act impulsively for he did not want to lose his new friend.

~ ~ ~

When Sam walked inside the drugstore at about noon his eyes scanned for Dean, but he was not there. Sam felt his heart falling and knew it was foolish to get so upset, but he could not quite seem to control his feelings... no matter how unfriend-like they were. He was just so very attracted to Dean. He could not help it. Sam turned to leave and then that was when he bumped right into Dean.

 

“I’m sor... Dean!”

 

“Sammy!” Dean beamed a smile at Sam and he felt himself blush.

 

“Are you ready to go?”

 

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?”

 

“I was able to get the car from my cousin and I figured we could go somewhere today. Maybe just a drive or something.”

 

“That... would be nice.”

 

“Alright. Let us go, then.”

 

They turned to leave, not noticing that they were being watched by a black woman with curly dark hair and dark knowing eyes.

 

The woman watched the boys go and mumbled to herself, “Oh, Samuel and Dean... I am going to hate to do what I must when the time comes...”


	7. Seven: Dean

He stared at Sam, who was sitting in the passenger seat of his Rolls Royce Silver Ghost which was a beautiful sleek crimson with a black top-cover and white lined tires. It was the only car that Dean and Ethan had and Dean had conned it away from Ethan.

 

Ever since things had heated up a little the first time they had met, Dean had not been able to think of anything or anyone else since. All he thought about was Sam, who he had begun calling Sammy in his head... according to him it fit the younger man. And most of the thinking he did included things that were not for the general populace... things he had never thought about. Things he had not even known he wanted to do.

 

"So where are we going?" Dean heard Sam ask, his voice sounding curious and hesitant at the same time.

 

"I thought a nice drive through the country-side and then maybe I could show you my home?"

 

"Okay. I would like that. Are we going to eat on our drive or at your home?"

 

"At my home. I'm pretty sure Marie will have something available, that woman is amazing!"

 

"So you have servants, then?" They were now driving down main street and were getting closer to heading out of town.

 

"Yes, I do. I come from a rather wealthy family. My dearly departed Aunt Georgia, she was extremely wealthy, especially after my Uncle Theodore died. And now that she is gone, well she willed us a house, lots of money, and her car. The one we are currently sitting in."

 

"Oh. Well... you really do have a lot."

 

Dean frowned at that statement. "I may have lots of stuff, but I need something more. Sometimes I feel so close to figuring out what it is and then it is like 'poof' gone and lost forever."

 

"Well, I shall try to help you find whatever it is you are looking for Dean Sorrenson. That is what good friends are for. I know that we only have met just recently, but I feel as if we have known one another since we were children."

 

"And that is how I feel towards you, Sammy."

 

"Did you just call me 'Sammy'?"

 

Dean cursed himself for slipping. He was being so careful! And now he had gone and probably screwed things up. "Yeah," he said trying to hide the scarlet blush that came to his face. He could see his house looming in the distance, the drive with all of its willow trees seeming to march towards him.

 

"I do not mind. I was just simply asking. Did you hear my mother call me that when I brought you home?"

 

"No. I just thought it sounded better."

 

"Okay," Sam said, a laugh coloring his voice.

 

Once Dean pulled the car up and parked it in the driveway, he got out and walked over to Sam's side, intending to get the door, but the younger man beat him to it, opening it with an audible gasp of delight.

 

"Dean! Your house is beautiful! It is not like anything we have in town. Those stairs! The columns! The red brick!"

 

Dean smiled and shyly thanked Sam. Then he said, after clearing his throat slightly, "Would you like to see the inside?"

 

"Oh yes! I am sorry. I was so busy staring at the outside I forgot about the inside. Let us go, mon ami."

 

Dean chuckled at use of French as he lead Sam inside the house.

~ ~ ~

Dean took Sam on a tour of the entire house, almost exactly like Marie had done for him and Ethan, and then, after grabbing some cheese, bread, some sliced ham that the cook had gladly cut for them, and wine from the kitchen, took Sam on up to his room.

 

Once there he set the platter of food on his bed with the wine. He had asked Sam to grab some wine glasses, which the younger man set on the nightstand.

 

Dean shrugged out of his black jacket, leaving only his matching black vest and slacks, and his dark green shirt. He undid his tie and flung it on the bed, really not caring about being proper. He was in the comfort of his own room, he felt it was his right. That was when he looked to Sam and found the boy staring at him a most peculiar look; Sam's face was slack, his lips open slightly and his eyes, which were the most startling hazel, seemed to have an almost feral glint in them.

 

"Sammy?"

 

Sam blinked and then shook his head. Dean sighed and invited the younger man to take his jacket off and relax. Dean laid across his bed, lounging comfortably. In a few seconds Sam was sitting cross-legged, holding a meat and cheese sandwich, attempting to eat it whole. Dean could not help by laugh out loud.

 

"Mrrwhaff?!"

 

"Sammy, I do not believe you have to scarf down the whole sandwich. There is always more. Please. Enjoy it. Would you like some wine?"

 

"Mress Preaze!" Sam was busy trying to swallow the gigantic bite he'd taken and Dean nearly spilt the wine for all the laughing he was doing.

 

And so their time together pasted. Talking about what they wanted out of life, what they needed, and everything. Except for their pasts. Neither one even fluttered with the idea of talking about such personal stuff, not that they did not fully trust one another - for that was clear enough. They just did not know how to go about it. Or how the other would react.

 

At about a quarter til six, Dean asked Sam if he wanted to stay for dinner or head home to spend it with his mother.

 

"Well, my mother should be fine by herself. I mean... I would like to stay for supper and I'm fairly sure my mother would not mind." Sam was smiling shyly and Dean noticed the dimple that flashed in Sam's right cheek. It had to be the cutest thing about him. Dean shook his head slightly, trying to clear out the non-friendly thoughts. He did not need to become attracted to Sam. What would his cousin think? What would society think?

 

"Okay then. You are staying for dinner." Dean got up, grabbing the tray as he went. He then reached for the wine, but as he was picking it up it slipped out of his hand and up-ended. Sam scrambled quickly to catch it, but instead got it wedged between them, wine spilling all over them, covering them.

 

"Oh, I am so so sorry Dean! I should have been more careful!" Dean could not stay angry for long, not when it really was an accident and Sam sounded so ashamed and embarrassed that it was endearing. "It is quite alright. We shall just change into some of my clothes. It is not a problem. Just let me clean up this wine that is all over my bedroom floor." Dean felt himself chuckling and realized that it was kind of comical how it had happened.

 

And so he slipped out of his wet shirt and used it to mop up the rest of the wine and then wrapped the wine bottle in it and set it aside. He then stood up and walked to his highboy, intending to get a couple shirts from it, when he turned his head back to ask Sam if he had a color preference and saw the younger man unbuttoning his shirt.

 

And Dean felt something hot and electric ignite inside of him. Smoldering hot and electric. He watched, mesmerized almost by the sight of Sam's long nimble fingers sliding the buttons from their holes and then shrugging out of his shirt, the fabric of the shirt scritching against Sam's smooth skin. Dean licked his lips and felt the uncontrollable urge to want to bite and suckle one of Sam's shoulders. And then he felt it, heat pooling in his pants, and he felt himself growing harder. He felt himself flush crimson and for once did not care if Sam noticed. He was suddenly tired of trying to hide his attraction. He suddenly knew that he wanted Sam. Wanted him unlike any other before him.

 

And so... Dean walked over briskly and did the one thing he could think of... he grabbed onto Sam's shoulders tightly and tenderly kissed his soft lips.


	8. Eight: Sam

Sam felt so bad at having not caught the wine bottle and having it spill all over himself and Dean, he wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. So, as Dean mopped up the spill with his shirt, Sam tried to work out a better apology, like maybe getting his friend a new shirt, or...

 

Sam turned started unbuttoning his shirt, knowing full well that Dean intended to give him another one to wear, and was surprised as could be when the older man suddenly latched onto his face after he had shrugged out of his shirt.

 

And suddenly, Sam was getting drunk off of the taste and feel of Dean's mouth, his kisses were soft and languid, urgent and tender. His lips were full and seemed almost to fit perfectly with Sam's. Sam felt himself shudder and then Dean's hands were touching him, one hand tangling in his hair, the other one skimming down his neck to cup his shoulder. Dean's touch was like fire and it was spreading everywhere, especially one area in particular and Sam felt that area become hard and it demanded to be set free.

 

"Dean..." Sam let out weakly before he was suddenly tossed onto the bed and then Dean was there, pressing his hard muscular body into his, his hands roaming everywhere, touching him, eliciting moans of pleasure from his mouth.

 

Sam's hands were everywhere as well. He was stroking Dean's back, his hair, his face, and even his still clothed buttocks. But he could feel the muscle underneath the fabric and well... He wanted to touch, to have his fingers grasping and clawing at those round globes.

 

And so Sam moved his hands to the front of Dean's pants and quickly undid them, revealing that Dean did not wear any undergarments! His member came forth and Sam was almost speechless at the graceful beauty and complete animalistic need to to take it in his mouth. He moaned aloud and heard Dean say, "I... I do not want to make you do anything you do not want to."

 

Sam's eyes found Dean's and Dean's green ones were a mix of intense lust and hunger paired with uncertainity and bashfulness. Sam stroked his hands across Dean's face. "I want to. With you. I want you, Dean... I need you."

 

And that seemed all it took for Dean to go from mostly shy and slightly lustful to full control and dominating. Dean's hands were quickly undoing Sam's pants and sliding them off. And then one of Dean's hands grabbed a hold of Sam's hardness and fisted until streams of sticky sweetness were seeping and Sam was moaning even harder.

 

Sam grabbed onto Dean's neck and pulled him in roughly for a kiss. He had never had a lover before this and somehow knew he would not want anyone else after.

 

They kissed passionately while Dean fisted his hardness with one hand, while the other hand slid underneath Sam, towards that secret place. And then Sam felt a finger circling and probing softly, gently, and Sam moaned so loud... he feared that someone would come running and interrupt them.

 

But no one came and Dean's mouth found Sam's clavicle and suckled, biting, and Sam knew he was going to have a bruise.

 

And then Dean brought his one finger to his mouth and sucked it, wetting it, and then moved it back to where it had been, gently probing Sam. And then Sam felt a sensation that was both slightly painful and mostly amazing as Dean's finger slid inside of him and then wiggled around. And then Dean's finger slid across some magical spot inside of Sam and he oozed more sweetness, covering Dean's hand, which was still stroking his hardness. Sam wanted to touch Dean, but all he could do was lay back and grasp Dean's bed sheets in his hands, biting at Dean's pillow to keep from moaning too loudly.

 

And then Sam felt Dean's finger retreat and then suddenly he felt Dean stroking himself. Sam almost whined in not getting to stroke Dean, but soon found out why Dean was stroking himself as he felt the head of Dean's hard member press against him.

 

"Dean... oh God... please..." Sam whimpered softly, his voice full of want and need.

 

"I am going to go slow. I will be gentle, Sammy. Promise." And then Sam felt Dean push forward and he instinctively knew to relax, allowing for Dean's hardness to enter all the way and he nearly moaned aloud.

 

And then Dean started moving, slowly, gently. He went slow so that Sam could get used to him and then when Sam loosened up enough he started to go faster and faster until he was pounding into Sam's ass, moaning his name over and over again.

 

And the whole while Dean was still stroking and fisting Sam's hardness with the same tempo as his thrusts.

 

And then Sam felt it. Dean whispered his name once, tensed, and then pounded away like crazy as he shuddered and Sam felt Dean coating his insides, marking him as his and his alone. And Sam found himself exploding, hard and fast. It shook him to his core and he could not help it when he nearly screamed Dean's name aloud.

 

Dean fell onto him, his head landing on his chest, breathing heavily, his heart beating just as fast as Sam's. They stayed that like for a while and then Sam felt Dean slide out of him and then Dean curled up against him, covering them in the blankets on the bed. And soon they had fallen asleep, the exertions from their lovemaking lulling them to sleep and the evidence of their lovemaking sticking them together.


	9. Nine: Vision ~ Part 2

**_The man walked towards him, his eyes glowing like two fiery-green embers, his eyes revealing all and everything. Love, happiness, tenderness, anger, hatred, sorrow, fear, resignation..._ **

****

**_The man stopped before him... only a breath away... The man's body, so muscular and lithe, radiated such warmth that Sam wanted to reach out and touch him, softly and gently._ **

****

**_But the look in the man's eyes made him stop and just stare..._ **

****

**_Suddenly the man was engulfed in flames, such hot scorching flames. White hot and bloody orange. The man was not screaming, but speaking to Sam, saying: "You must save me. You must save me, Sammy. I need you... Help me... Help me! HELP ME!"_ **

****

**_Then the figure was gone, as were the flames. All that was left was a blackened symbol on the ground._ **


	10. Ten: Sam

It was the smell that awoke Sam. The smell of charred flesh. The smell of blood, so coppery and tangy...

 

Sam's sleepy brain had not registered the pain radiating from his right forearm, but once it hit him he was sitting up faster than he ever had in his entire life.

 

The sheet fell away, exposing the fact that just a few hours ago Sam and Dean had made love, sweet tender love for the very first time. But Sam's attention was at the burned, blackened, and bloody symbol scorched into his tender flesh.

 

He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying. His brain randomly wondered why the room was shaking and then he realized that he was trembling uncontrollably... spasms rocking his body. He felt wetness streaking down his face.

 

"Goodmorning, Sa... Sammy?! Oh my God, are you... are you okay?!" Dean was suddendly there... wrapping his arms around him. With Dean's arms around him, Sam felt himself beginning to calm. But the symbol, so blackened and bloody, marked him like cattle. Sam was not sure what this meant. All he knew was that he did not want to keep looking at it.

 

"C-can we get s-someth-thing to c-cl-clean my arm u-up?" Sam hated the way his voice faltered and cracked, he felt like something had entered him while he slept and took a part of him, a sacred part, and tore it to shreds.

 

"Yes. I will be right back," Dean said, getting out of the bed quickly and then throwing on his slacks hurriedly, forgetting to button the top button in his rush to get a warm, wet cloth.

 

A few minutes later, Dean arrived, with an older black woman following him. Her eyes were dark and her hair curled wildly about her. Sam knew that this was not Dean's servant Marie, this was someone else.

 

"Oh, sweet Mother of Jesus..." her eyes held only sympathy and kindness.

 

"I am going to get you cleaned up, Sammy. Do not worry. I shall make it look as if... if..." and then Dean started crying, tears streaking his face as he wiped gently at the symbol, taking extra care not to hurt Sam anymore than he already was.

 

"Wh-who are you?" Sam asked the dark skinned lady.

 

"My name is Missouri, child. I knew something was gonna to happen to ya, just not quite when."

 

Her eyes spoke volumes to him. Understanding, kindness, sadness, and even a little happiness.

 

"Why are you here?" Dean asked, pausing in his cleaning to look up at Missouri.

 

"To help you boys. There are things that you need to know. Things in which you are now a part of, maybe have always had a part in."

 

"Ok. What?" Sam did not mean to sound cross, but the pain in his arm was unrelenting.

 

"There is an old prophecy that almost every psychic knows of, even the psychic-healers. It tells of two boys who are destined to either bring about the destruction of the world or be the salvation of the world. Here," Missouri said, handing Dean a piece of paper. Dean held it so that Sam could read with him. Written in a spiraling, faded script was the prophecy.

 

__

When Darkness descends...

A Sigil shall appear, marking each of the Chosen...

Two shall stand apart...

A Chosen and the One of Heart...

And only they will hold dominion over the Bloody Rose...

Only the two will decide the fate of the world...


End file.
